


In the Stacks, She Loved Me Dearly

by Zofiecfield



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Library, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, One Shot, i miss going to the library, let's fight stress with fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zofiecfield/pseuds/Zofiecfield
Summary: Nicole Haught meets Waverly Earp, a quirky librarian, and they solve a mystery!11-5-20 Small fluffy epilogue added, because this week needs fluff
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught
Comments: 22
Kudos: 140





	1. The Ghost in the Library

Nicole Haught sat at the same desk in the Purgatory Public Library, tucked into the stacks, every evening for two weeks straight. The first five evenings were entirely because she had a hunch, a theory that needed proving. The next nine were mostly because of the young librarian she couldn’t get out of her head.

The librarian was beautiful and obscenely hot. Unbelievably light on her feet, the librarian seemed to drift around the library without a sound, appearing suddenly out of nowhere, gone at the next glance. Nicole had picked up a terrible daydream habit as a result and had taken to wandering the stacks in hopes of running into her.

The librarian had odd habits. Quirky, and utterly endearing. Nicole had seen her dancing down the hallways on several occasions, in a variety of styles not typically found in libraries, often singing quietly as she did so. Her pastimes also included photobombing selfies of teen girls, sliding down banisters, and standing on desks, making punny comments to passersby. Always chipper, with her sweet, sweet smile. 

No one at the library seemed to be fazed by her in the slightest. No one except Nicole Haught, anyway.

And odd, funny, ridiculously beautiful woman. Nicole would have visited libraries more often if she had known librarians were this hot, this curious, this entirely distracting.

On occasion, Nicole could swear she caught the librarian watching her, but every time she tried to catch her eye in return, the librarian was gone again. It felt like flirtation that had been pulled like taffy, sweet, but too thin to satisfy.

Nicole wasn’t one to shy away from approaching a woman who had caught her attention, but something about this one was different.  
Something about the way Nicole’s heart stuttered a bit at the sight of her, something about that smile.  
Something about the handful of times Nicole saw the smile falter, deep in the stacks, for the briefest moments between breaths, leaving the librarian looking terribly, terribly lonely. 

Nicole Haught felt a bit unsteady. 

As she left the library one day, Nicole leaned over the check-out desk and, in a conspiratorial whisper, asked the nice elderly volunteer there for the name of the beautiful librarian. Talking a bit too much, a bit too hurried, blushing a bit at her own absurdity, she may have admitted to a crush. 

“Mrs. Marshall?” The woman said loudly, looking a bit shocked. “Honey she’s married! To a man.” She nodded towards Mrs. Marshall, a 62 year old library veteran wearing head-to-toe gingham and a sharp scowl, currently hissing at a group of laughing teenagers. 

Nicole hurried a _thank you_ , and a _no, I mean, no_ , and ducked out the door quickly.

Just a day later, Nicole sat hunched over the old newspaper she’d been combing through for evidence. She murmured to herself as she skimmed the page with a finger, pausing to take notes or snap a photo of a paragraph every couple of pages. 

“The archives in the basement would be more thorough than these,” a voice said behind her. 

Nicole jumped two feet off the chair with a yelp and a hearty “Shit!”. Whipping around, she found herself nearly nose to nose with the young librarian, who had been peering over her shoulder. 

The librarian gasped.

“I’m sorry!” Nicole whispered, remembering where the were. “You scared me! You’re very light on your feet,” she laughed.

The librarian had paled, looking nearly faint, but slowly, a smile crept across her face. “I’m so sorry to have startled you,” she said. 

“No worries. You’re a librarian here, right? I’ve seen you around.”

“A librarian of sorts,” the woman responded. “I was just noticing your choice in newspaper and thought perhaps you’d like to see our broader archives. The Purgatory Press has a bit of a reputation for glossing over the real story. Always has. We have several other publications, dating back over 100 years, if you’d be interested in seeing them.” She stopped quite suddenly, rambling. With a little breath for pause, she grinned. “Hi. I’m Waverly. Waverly Earp.”

Nicole smiled back, putting her dimples on full display. “Nicole Haught. It’s very nice to meet you. I’d love to see those archives if you’d be willing to escort me.” She offered an elbow, but Waverly was already off, weaving her way through the stacks. 

“Can I ask what you’re looking for in these old papers?” Waverly asked this as she picked her way down the steep dusty steps leading to the library basement, turning her head to glance up at Nicole, a couple steps behind.

“Just curious,” Nicole said.

Unconvinced, Waverly raised a wry eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Just curious?” She returned to her descent, continuing as she went. “Beautiful women don’t usually spend their days in the dark stacks unless they’re looking for something.”

Nicole blushed a bit, caught off-guard. A beat passed without a useful retort, so she chose a version of honesty instead. “I moved here a few months ago. I’m the Sherrif’s new deputy. And, I’ve… seen some things that make me question what kind of town this is.” It was the first time she’d said anything close to the truth out loud to anyone. 

Waverly hummed a bit under her breath but said nothing.

Nicole filled the space, unsure why she was going on, but somehow, compelled. “Anyone I try to talk to about it tells me it’s nothing. But I think they’re wrong, or lying, or choosing not to see.” She paused for a moment on the bottom step. “I sound like a nut.”

Waverly, now standing in the center of the dark storage room, grinned brightly at her. “Flip that switch at the bottom of the stairwell, would you?” The overhead lights crackled on, dimly. “Nuts isn’t a particularly useful concept in this town,” she said. She sidled up to Nicole, stopping just an inch or two in front of her, and letting her eyes drift down to lips. “Let’s call you open-minded.”

She danced away, leaving Nicole to stand momentarily stunned, cogs struggling to kick back into motion.

Waverly drifted along the rows of plastic bins, reading labels carefully and talking quietly to herself. Every now and then, she would point to a bin. “If I understand correctly what you’re looking for, start with this one. Read 1973’s edition of The Purgatory Women’s Council Annual Meeting Minutes. Mmm, and this one. Flip back to 1857 and read everything from that year. Oh, and I think Jimmy Snow’s 7th grade journaling project is in that box. Totally worth wading through the spelling errors and chicken scratch.” 

Nicole fished out each piece as directed, piling them on the long table at the back of the room. “I think I have enough reading here for a month!”

Waverly surveyed the piles approvingly. “And that’s only half the boxes! I’ll help you go through the rest of them when you’re ready. These can’t be checked out, so you can’t take them home. But no one comes down here except me, so if you wanted to leave them out on the table here, you could.”

Nicole agreed, happy for the convenience, but far happier for an excuse to see Waverly again.

They parted ways at the top of the stairs, Waverly slipping into the stacks, her eye snagged by an old leather-bound book, and Nicole to a night of dreams about a certain librarian and the promising privacy of the stacks.

Nearly every evening from then on, Nicole descended the stairs to the grimy basement and stayed until the library closed, pouring over the archives. More often than not, Waverly appeared shortly after she arrived. They spent the hours in comfortable quiet, moving around each other, never quite touching, but always close enough to send sparks up Nicole’s spine. Waverly had taken to peering over Nicole’s shoulder to point out bits of interest, leaving Nicole battling between paying attention to her words and paying attention to her utterly delightful proximity. 

Waverly Earp was a font of knowledge and enthusiasm when it came to things that were not entirely _normal_. She was intimately familiar with every text in the basement and every dusty volume in the corners of the stacks upstairs. She spoke four languages fluently, and could muddle through several others. She was a refreshing shock, in a town full of people with their eyes and lips closed tightly. 

The weeks wore on, and Nicole fell a little more in love with Waverly with every passing day. To be near her was to be electrically charged, a spark building and building, waiting. Gazes grew longer, deeper, locked and loaded, pressure on the trigger. Over and over, they found themselves a breath apart, caught in the push and pull between them. Nicole longed to touch her, longed to be touched by her. But every time her hand thought about finding the nape of a neck, the curve of a jaw, in that final moment before movement, when they were nearly on fire from the tension, Waverly would be gone, twirling off down the aisles or hunching over another text. 

After a particularly long day, Nicole walked down into the library basement and collapsed at the table with a groan. She had spent her day at the local elementary school doing a demonstration. The day had ended unexpectedly when a second grader with blazing orange eyes and a forked tongue vomited purple goop all over her. She had been told to document the incident as “a typical case of pediatric acute gastric distress”. 

Waverly was already there, pursuing the books they’d left open the night before.

“Maybe this is pointless,” Nicole sighed, flopping her head down onto her arms. “What’s the point of knowing the truth if everyone is willfully choosing not to see it?”

Waverly looked at her sympathetically. “Long day, huh?” She drifted closer. “It’s good to want to know, Nicole. Dangerous and frustrating and unrewarding, but good.” 

She paused, searching for the words. When she started again, her voice had new urgency to it. “Seeking truth, understanding, it keeps you moving, keeps you growing. People in this town stopped moving a long time ago. They stopped looking, stopped listening. It’s good to have someone new around, who isn’t stagnant. Bad things take root if no one is searching, if no one is questioning the stories they’ve been told.”

Puzzled by this turn, Nicole regarded Waverly carefully. “And what are you searching for? I see you in the stacks, always moving, always looking. This isn’t just a job for you.”

Waverly went very still, eyes distant, seeing past Nicole into a different time. She took a deep breath. “A while back, a young woman disappeared in Purgatory. She walked into this library one morning and never walked back out. Everyone looked for her, of course, but she hasn’t been seen since. So now the stories say she ran off to live a different life, a better life. But, Nicole, she had such a good life already.”

“Did you know her?”

“I did.”

“But you don’t think she ran off. What do you think happened? People don’t just disappear.”

A dark look passed across Waverly’s face. “Sometimes they do. Sometimes people slip between the planes of the world accidentally, one word, one beat out of place. Stuck. Sometimes they’re just gone. I’ve been trying to figure out how to find the gap she slipped through, how to bring her back.”

“And?”

Waverly shook her head and smiled a sad smile. She wandered back into the rows of boxes, and didn’t return for quite a while.

That night as they parted, Nicole reached across the distance for the first time, to squeeze Waverly’s hand. “If I can help with your search, I’m here. For as long as it takes, I’m here.”

Waverly froze. She looked down at their hands, still linked, her face a wild storm of emotion. She squeezed back.

“Hey,” Nicole said, quietly, dipping her head to see Waverly’s face. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I pushed too hard tonight, asked too many questions.”

Silently, eyes still pinned to their joined hands, Waverly took her other hand and slowly traced up Nicole’s arm with her fingertips. “Nicole,” she whispered, voice rough. “I’m going to need you to do one more thing tonight.”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me. Now.”

Nicole didn’t hesitate. She pulled Waverly to her and time and space ceased to exist. The world accordioned down into Waverly Earp, hands in her hair, tongue on her lips. 

Nicole pressed Waverly firmly against the end of the stack with her hips, seeking every point of contact possible. Waverly slipped desperate hands into Nicole’s back pockets and pulled her even closer.

Waverly kissed with abandon, hungry and wholly present, like a woman who knows not to take a kiss for granted. They came undone.

Their evenings of basement research took on a different hue after that. The dank room couldn’t keep up with them as they burned. Now, texts were studied between them as they tangled together, theories spun by their joined hands. Pages were explored alongside bodies, foreign texts interpreted in whispers against skin.

One afternoon at the end of her shift, weeks into her library romance, Nicole was called to Shorty’s Bar to handle a bit of chaos. 

As she left the station, Sheriff Nedley smiled a knowing smile and chuckled, “If Wynonna is there, watch out for her fists. I’ve lost too many half-decent men to those fists.” 

Nicole could have asked, but she had long since learned the futility of questions.

At the bar, Nicole found a woman, lean and spitting mad, straddling a mustached man, pinned to the floor. She had his hair tight in one fist, and his throat in the other. “Wynonna,” he croaked in a drawl, “be reasonable.”

She gritted her teeth and tightened both fists, digging her heels into his sides. 

“Okay, break it up,” Nicole said, approaching them and showing her badge.

Wynonna caught Nicole in her peripheral vision and rolled her eyes. She hollered to the bartender, not taking her eyes off the man between her knees. “You called the cops, Shorty? Are you kidding me?” 

The man behind the bar shrugged and nodded toward her captive. “He drinks a lot, Wynonna. If you kill him, my finances suffer.”

Wynonna gave one final tug on the man’s hair, and stood, placing much of her weight through a knee on his groin as she did so. She raised her hands and offered a snarky smile at Nicole. “No trouble here, Deputy.”

The man on the floor rose with a grunt and dusted himself off. “Wynonna Earp, if you ever do that again in a public space fully clothed, why, I’ll –“

Nicole cut him off. “Wynonna Earp?”

Wynonna curtsied and slipped onto a stool, downing the half pint sitting on the bar in one sip. “The one and only.”

Nicole sat down on the stool next to her. “Are you related to Waverly Earp?”

Within the split of a second, Nicole was backed against the bar, Wynonna’s nose an inch from hers. “What the hell do you know about Waverly? How dare you say her name?”

Nicole placed two hands on Wynonna’s chest and pushed her back a step. “We met at the library. She’s been helping me with some research. We’re-“

And that’s when Wynonna decked her. Her fist came out of nowhere and connected with Nicole’s jaw with a sickening crack.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Wynonna hissed in her ear, pinning her wrists to the bar. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Vision skewed and ears ringing, Nicole twisted sharply out of her grasp, confused and growing angry. “What?”

Without a word, Wynonna spat at her feet and walked away, slamming the bar door behind her.

Nicole sunk back down onto the bar stool, replaying the last two minutes over, trying to make some sense of them.

“You must be new here.”

Nicole looked up to find a man sitting next to her. He flashed a badge. 

“Deputy Marshall Xavier Dolls. You must be new here,” he repeated.

Nicole frowned at him. “Not so new.”

“Too new to avoid that punch,” he said.

The man from the floor took the seat on the other side of her. “What the Marshall is getting at here, a bit rudely perhaps, is that you’re a bit too new to know some of the wounds in this town and a bit too new to know not to poke them.” He offered a hand and a charming smile, “Doc Holliday.”

Nicole ignored his hand and looked from one to the other and back again. “What the hell are you talking about? Either of you.”

Marshall Dolls spoke. “Waverly Earp walked into the Purgatory Public Library eighteen months ago and hasn’t been seen since. Wynonna is her older sister.” His voice was low and there was hurt at the edges.

“You knew her too,” Nicole said.

“We both did, ma’am,” said Doc. “None of us have come to grips with the loss, least of all Wynonna, so you’ll have to forgive her the fist.”

Dolls laid his badge out on the bar and met Nicole’s eyes, grave. “If you have any information on Waverly Earp or her whereabouts...”

A frown flickered across her face. “Yeah, right. But there’s someone I have to talk to first.”

“Waves?”

Waverly turned from the book she’d been hovering over intently, face open and warm. Her expression fell quickly as she took in Nicole’s face. “What’s wrong? Oh my gods, what happened to your face?”

“I met your sister. Waverly…” Nicole reached out to Waverly, who pulled away, eyes flashing in panic. 

Waverly laughed a hollow laugh, fooling no one. “That Wynonna… she’s a real piece of work…” 

Nicole let her go, and Waverly spun away, pacing the aisles, unfocused. 

“Waves,” Nicole sighed quietly, suspicions confirmed. “You’re the woman in the story. The one who disappeared in the library. You slipped between planes and got stuck. The story was about you.” 

She took a step forward, imploring, “Waverly. Tell me what happened. We’ll fix this together.”

“This can’t be fixed.” Waverly said, voice rising dangerously. With fists, she tugged her hair wildly, jaw set. “I have tried and tried and tried! Don’t you think I’ve tried?” 

She spun away, walking straight through a shelving unit and several boxes, leaving them entirely untouched.

Nicole sucked in a sharp breath but said nothing, waiting.

“I shouldn’t have gotten close to you! What was I thinking?” The pitch of Waverly’s voice climbed and climbed as she passed through a wall, through the table, through their piles of texts. Restless, caged and fearful, growing more so by the minute. “I am a dead end, Nicole Haught. I am as good as dead.”

She stopped suddenly. Her eyes, hard and flat, meeting Nicole’s. “This is over. I should never have let it start.” 

She stepped to pass by Nicole, towards the stairs, but Nicole caught her with a gentle hand around her wrist. Waverly froze.

“This doesn’t feel like over,” Nicole said. 

Waverly burst into tears and Nicole pulled her in tightly as the heaving sobs fell.

Later, as they sat on the floor together, Nicole’s hand running steady strokes up and down Waverly’s spine, Waverly filled her in on the whole story, the whole truth.

Wynonna, Doc, Dolls. Her team. They had been in trouble, and her only path to help them had been an incantation in an ancient text, buried in the basement of the library. It was dangerous, working magic on her own with rushed translations and drug store supplies, but she’d done it. They were worth every risk, and she was the last option. And it worked. She felt the magic as it poured out of her. But something had gone wrong along the way. The smallest of miscalculations, two words swapped, a homonym said with incorrect intention. And the magic took her as its price. 

She’d been in the library since, not quite here, but not quite anywhere else either.

“I can’t leave the building. I can’t touch anything and nothing can touch me. I have no effect. I’m null. Stuck. Trapped. And that’s the end of the story.” She slumped, exhausted and drained, from this night, from eighteen months of nights like this.

“Maybe that’s the end,” Nicole said, brushing a strand of hair behind Waverly’s ear, “but there’s an epilogue coming.”

Waverly looked up to meet her eyes. Nicole continued, tracing one finger slowly down Waverly’s jaw, coming to rest under her chin. “Because, if you haven’t noticed, I can touch you.”

Waverly leaned into the touch, eyes drifting closed for a moment. She sucked down a shuddering breath and opened her eyes again, the faintest spark of curiosity reignited. 

“Yeah,” she said softly, glancing at an open book beside them. “I haven’t quite figured that bit out yet. It makes no sense. You can touch me. I can touch you. And I think,” she took one of Nicole’s hands and placed it on the book, then looped her fingers through the other hand, “I can touch anything you’re touching.” Waverly flipped a page of the book, then, letting go of Nicole’s hand, passed her fingers through it, immaterial. “You’re like a conduit. An anchor.”

“Seems like a place to start!” Nicole grinned, excited, squeezing Waverly’s hand. “Waverly, this means I can help you communicate with Wynonna and your team! We can fix this together. Why didn’t we think of this sooner?” 

Waverly pulled her hand out of Nicole’s and scrambled to her feet, backing away sharply. Voice low and flat, “No, Nicole. No.”

Nicole began to question, but Waverly’s face hardened. The words died on her lips. “Nicole, it would be cruel to give them hope. Cruel to tie them to this place, to me. If they have any reason for hope, they’ll destroy themselves trying to fix this. And when it doesn’t work, they’ll be trapped too, no different than I am, and it will be my fault. They’re better off this way, moving on with their lives. This is the last thing I can do for them.”

Nicole gaped at her, bewildered and alarmed. “Better off? Waverly! They’re heartbroken!”

A voice from the doorway caused them both to jump. “Lady, either you’re batshit crazy, or we need to talk.” Wynonna was standing at the base of the stairs. “For a cop, you were very easy to follow.”

“How long have you been there?” Nicole asked.

“A while. Is she here?”

Nicole glanced at Waverly, who hesitated, eyes glued to Wynonna. After a long moment, she nodded her consent, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Yes, she’s here,” Nicole said. “Something went wrong with the magic, and she got stuck. If that makes any sense.”

“Prove it. Prove she’s here.”

At this, Waverly smiled, just a little, through her tears. She hiccupped. “I told Marcus Porter that you liked him in 7th grade. I had just learned to read, and I read your diary. I thought I was being helpful.”

Nicole relayed this, and Wynonna let out a strangled chuckle in shear disbelief. “You’ll be in trouble for that when I find you, Baby Girl.”

“Wait,” Nicole gasped, grabbing Wynonna’s wrist. Wynonna tried to wrench her wrist away, earning an eye roll from Nicole. “Hold still for a second! Read the room, woman.”

Nicole held out her hand towards Waverly, who sobbed harder but took it. Shaking, Waverly leaned forward and brushed a thumb across Wynonna’s cheek. 

Wynonna’s breath hitched and she reached up to catch Waverly’s hand. She traced up Waverly’s arm to find the back of her neck. Slowly, Wynonna pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I missed you,” she whispered, and unheard, unseen, Waverly whispered back.

After a long moment, Wynonna dropped Nicole’s hand. Clearing her throat and brushing her eyes briskly on her sleeve, she nodded towards the spot where Waverly stood. “Okay, tell me everything,” she said, then paused, pointing at Nicole. “But first, tell me why the fuck she can see you and I can’t.”

Waverly laughed, a true laugh. She kissed Nicole quickly on the lips and whispered in her ear. 

Grinning smugly, Nicole passed along the message. “Because I’m special.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “Gross.”

The whole family, the team that had mourned and missed her, the team that had searched endlessly for her, assembled in the library basement every night for the next week. With Nicole serving as interpreter, Waverly guided them through the archives and the depths of the stacks, through dusty texts and ancient languages. Together, they traced the magic back to the moment it went awry. 

At last, so many months after they’d parted, they stood in a circle in the dim light. Salt scattered, chants humming from their lips. 

The lights flickered and went out.

“Hey, guys? ” Waverly whispered into the darkness, daring to hope, but just barely.

Wynonna was on her in an instant, roaring with joy. Doc whooped and wrapped them both in his arms. Dolls hung back, but Waverly found his hand and pulled him into the tangle of laughing, crying, happy bodies too.

Nicole stood apart, smiling at them, family reunited. She trailed along the wall to find the fuse box. 

The lights popped back on.

Waverly’s face poked out from under Wynonna’s arm. Grinning at Nicole, she disentangled herself and closed the distance between them. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, slipping her arms around Nicole’s waist. She leaned up to kiss Nicole softly as Nicole pulled her closer, sighing against her lips. 

They were interrupted immediately by Wynonna, who flung her arms around them and kissed Nicole wetly on the cheek. “Welcome to the dream team, Haughtsauce. You’re stuck with us now,” she said, as Nicole groaned and laughed.


	2. Epilogue - Body Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluffy epilogue of sorts, because today needed something fluffy.

It took a while for Waverly to readjust to life as a corporeal being. Solidity no longer came naturally. She frequently missed steps and stumbled down stairs, slammed drawers and doors shut, and spoke far too loudly or far too softly for polite indoor company. She was constantly stubbing her toes, bumping her shoulders into the edges of doorframes, and catching her hips on sharp counter corners, hissing and swearing and rubbing her insulted appendages. 

“Baby Girl, were you being a ghost again?” Wynonna would holler to her, chuckling while Nicole fussed and hunted for ice. 

The strain and grief of all those months lost was still there, so heavy, it nearly became solid itself sometimes. But laughter was welcome in a house that had been far too quiet, far too sad for far too long.

Early one morning, bleary eyed and groggy, quite underdressed, Waverly smashed straight into the closed bathroom door, lost two toenails and gave herself a bloody nose. Hopping around on one foot growling and cussing, even she had to laugh at the absurdity of that one.

Don’t feel too sorry for Waverly. Bumps and bruises weren’t all bad. When they were alone, Nicole would kiss the blacks and greens and purples of her, before dragging tongue and teeth along skin, to remind her of its borders. 

* * *

Aside from extraordinarily clumsy, Waverly was also hungry. Not hungry in a cutesy let-me-share-your-fries way. Not hungry in a craving-your-touch way (she was hungry that way too, though). 

Waverly was Hungry, as in Ravenous, as in eat-everything-in-the-pantry. It became rapidly apparent she was literally replenishing the required calories for every single day she had been intangible. One calorie at a time, ticking the delinquent days off slowly.

She delighted in each bite, humming and moaning, savoring the novelty and comforting familiarity.

One Tuesday morning, Doc watched her eat six peanut butter sandwiches with such glee, licking her fingers and polishing off glasses of soy milk in single gulps. He looked a bit alarmed as she neared the seventh sandwich. "It's a bit unnatural," he whispered to Wynonna. "I had a horse who ate peanut butter like that once... but, well, that's a story for another time."

Nicole walked into the kitchen one day to find Wynonna sitting beside an empty jar, dejected. “She ate all the cookies, all the nuts, and all the crackers. Every banana. All she left were some olives, and I think I heard her whisper to them that she’d be back for them later. I know she’ll peter out at some point, once she’s caught up, but…”

Nicole chuckled. “She ate everything at my apartment last weekend too. I brought reinforcements,” she said, pointing to several tote bags of groceries by the door. 

“I still don’t like you,” Wynonna said, already hunkered over and pawing through the bags. Nicole ignored her.

Waverly’s footsteps thundered down the stairs, save for the last one, which she missed entirely. 

Wynonna looked up, alarmed. 

“Quick! Hide the peanut butter under the sink and stuff those granola bars in your pocket,” Nicole whispered, urgent and only half joking.

* * *

Nicole had been surprised the first time Waverly suggested a trip to the library. Surprised, and concerned.

In a research fervor, Waverly vibrated with excitement on the drive there. Wynonna sat in the back seat, casting her concerned glances and reviewing the library rules with her repeatedly.

“Tell me the rules again, Baby Girl. Pinky promise me you’ll remember them.” Wynonna leaned forward to catch Waverly’s attention in the passenger seat.

“I know, I know. No magic in the library. No slipping out of this plane of existence. No disappearing for months at a time. No bringing home any more jaw-droppingly gorgeous cops. Stop worrying, Wynonna!”

“You edited that last one a bit. No joking. This is serious,” Wynonna admonished. “I’ll kick your butt if you disappear. And her butt,” Wynonna said, pointing to Nicole.

“Leave me out of this. I’m just sitting here being innocently gorgeous,” Nicole said, though her smile was hollow. She drove slowly and tried to swallow down her own apprehension. No one could love a place so much that they would willingly return after months of torment and captivity, could they? Surely this would bring up some serious trauma. She’d tried to talk Waverly out of it, but Waverly was stubborn and recklessly enthusiastic. It was an endearing, and quite stressful, personality trait.

They walked through the front doors, two-thirds of them a bundle of nerves. Waverly ran into the stacks immediately. Wynonna and Nicole exchanged concerned glances.

But once they saw Waverly dancing down aisles, singing softly in glee, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Marshall and her army of elderly volunteers, their worries flew out the window. 

As it turned out, Waverly’s library behavior when she was solid wasn’t all that different from when she was a ghost. Quirky and borderline inappropriate, but her charm and enthusiasm tipped the balance just enough. 

The main difference between then and now was how handsy she was with old books now that she could touch them. She ran her fingers down their spines and sniffed their dusty covers. She whispered to them sweetly and hummed in delight as she turned their pages and stroked across lines of text. 

Nicole almost expected the books to shiver and sigh under those attentive fingertips, like she usually did.

* * *

In addition to the irritating symptoms of returning to a solid physical form, the other notable post-ghost adjustment was the addition of Nicole Haught to the Homestead. 

Totally in love and clinging a bit to the woman who had anchored her when she had been unmoored, Waverly delighted and took comfort in Nicole’s presence. They spent much of their time together, cuddled up in a chair by the fire, swinging quietly on the porch, curled up in bed with whispers and soft giggles.

Less delighted and a bit uncomfortable with Nicole’s presence, perhaps a bit jealous, Wynonna poked mercilessly at her, waiting for a snap, searching for a crack. 

“No cops in my house,” she said, on more than one occasion, upon finding Nicole on the doorstep. She’d snap the door shut in Nicole’s face and flip the bolt as Waverly ran across the house to intervene.

Backing Nicole into dark corners of the house, suspicions at the ready, she’d ask, “What are your intentions with my sister?” 

“Besides making sure she stays in this plane of existence?” Nicole would counter, patting Wynonna’s shoulder and slipping past her. “Seeing to her every whim and desire, of course.”

When Wynonna grumbled to Waverly about Nicole’s presence at dinner, or quite frequently, breakfast, Waverly gave her a little shove and a plea. “I think you two would be really good friends. You should give her a chance.”

“Like, _best friends_?” Wynonna rolled her eyes. “No thanks. You’re the only best friend I need, Baby Girl.”

Waverly kissed her on the cheek and said nothing more on the subject.

Wynonna challenged Nicole to a fight at least once a day, fists raised in an offer, a plea, a demand. Physical altercation is easier to process than emotional weight, and Wynonna welcomed the low road in this instance. 

“Stop it, Wynonna. You can’t beat up my girlfriend,” Waverly hollered at her, dragging Nicole up the stairs by the hand.

“Hey,” Nicole huffed, indignant. “Who says she’d beat me up? I would totally win!”

Waverly laughed and shook her head. Nicole stopped mid-stair. “Wait, did you just call me your girlfriend?”

Some version of this went on daily, Nicole always politely declining the offer of a brawl. 

That is, she declined until the day she hauled off and slugged Wynonna in the front yard. Caught off-guard, Wynonna stumbled back. Nicole, looking a bit smug, threw out an arm to catch her. 

Wynonna’s face broke into a grin. She whooped loudly in approval then tackling Nicole to the dirt. Waverly yelled at them to quit it, but they were too busy to hear.

“Still don’t like her,” Wynonna said later that night, flinching as her broad smile tugged at her split lip.

Waverly shook her head and said nothing.

Sitting down to dinner one night, weeks after returning to her solid state, Waverly passed Wynonna a plate. 

“Where’s your cop friend?” Wynonna asked.

“Nicole said she might have to work tonight. She wasn’t sure,” Waverly said with a shrug. “Looks like it’s just us for dinner.”

“But she said she’d be over to play cards tonight! I had a new game to teach her.” Wynonna’s voice had a petulant edge to it, which she caught immediately and tried to cover with a huff.

Waverly regarded her carefully, then a sly grin slid across her face.

“You like her!” Waverly crooned, rising to her feet. “She’s your friend! You like her, like, _like her_ like her. Like, _best friends_ like her!” Waverly hopped around the kitchen, doing a little victory wiggle.

“Shut up,” Wynonna hissed, but to no avail.

“Aw, buddy,” Nicole said from the door, smirking. “You’re my best friend too.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes beautifully but couldn’t quite hide her pleased smile as she slid a plate into Nicole’s spot. 

* * *

Sure, returning to solid form came with a mess of complications, bruises and bloody noses of the body and soul. But this little family unit recovered just fine.


End file.
